


The State That I'm In

by DragonEyez



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other, Post-Canon, also Noah is alive because fuck that noise, honestly these boys got fucked up and need some tlc, post trk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:18:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9794030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonEyez/pseuds/DragonEyez
Summary: Everything else had been destroyed, broken, or laid waste to in the quest for something that had never existed. Everything had broken, for an instant/eternity. Noah: corrupted; Blue, hurt; Adam, possessed; Ronan, strangled; Henry, forced to bear witness. And Gansey-Post-TRK, Gansey and Ronan deal with the immediate aftermath of everything.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Gansey's gotta be feeling pretty fucked up right? i mean he died twice and was resurrected and told his quest was one big Gotcha! moment.
> 
> Me: ... welp i gotta write it now
> 
> The original title in docs was "he needs some milk" 
> 
> Title from Sufjan Steven's "The Predatory Wasp of the Palisades"

Depending on where you began, the story was about Gansey and Ronan and the two of them sitting on the couch, curled into each other like their clutching fingertips could hold each other together. Depending on where you started, Blue, Henry, Adam, and Noah were upstairs in Ronan's bed trying to do the same thing. It was silent in Monmouth with the exception of a broken sob or two, a ragged inhalation of breath, a murmured comfort here and there. Eventually, Gansey pulled himself away from Ronan and leaned over, resting hands on his knees. 

“Gansey?” Both boys winced at the sound of Ronan’s voice, unnaturally raspy, like someone had siphoned all the life out of it (so many things had been transformed that night). 

“I just...I need...I don’t know.” Gansey’s fingers itched. There wasn’t a better way to describe the restless energy that was building in his hands to the point where he was surprised to find they weren’t shaking. They laid there against the knees of sweatpants he had borrowed from Ronan, unable to change back into his own clothes without bile rising. 

“C’mon Gansey. What do you need?”

His eyes fell on the cardboard Henrietta. His paper kingdom. And suddenly he knew. “I need your lighter. Please.” Ronan frowned but still allowed Gansey to clumsily pull it from his jacket pocket. He crawled over to where the city stood next to his bed and stared at it in thought. It had to go, he needed it to be gone, or maybe not it, specifically, but the urge to lay waste to something laid into Gansey in a way it hadn’t since that night with Kavinsky and the molotovs. Everything else had been destroyed, broken, or laid waste to in the quest for something that had never existed. Everything had broken, for an instant/eternity. Noah: corrupted; Blue, hurt; Adam, possessed; Ronan, strangled; Henry, forced to bear witness. And Gansey-

Gansey fumbled with the lighter, but his stiff fingers couldn’t seem to make it catch. No flame erupted, not even a spark. Frantically, he kept trying, but the wheel wouldn’t spin. After sitting silently, Ronan came over and crouched next to Gansey and gently pulled it from his hands. Then, it seemed as if something had snapped in the other boy, and frantically went to tear apart Gansey’s haphazard stacks of notes and books and maps, all of the Glendower materials that he had been cultivating for years. He gathered up an armful and carried it outside with a manic energy that Gansey hadn’t seen over the last few weeks. Curiosity pulsing through the numbness, Gansey followed the other out to see what he was doing. Ronan had deposited all of it in Monmouth’s parking lot and was now headed back towards the door.

“We’re burning all this shit, come on. You can keep whatever’s not related to this fucking shitshow if you want but all of this Glendower stuff is gone. Let’s go.”

In a way, the process of sorting through years of his life and choosing to throw out most of it was cathartic in the same way crying felt refreshing. In the same way peeling down the road in Ronan’s BMW in the middle of the night was at once energizing and peaceful. As they carried out heavy manuscripts and bound journals and loose papers there were no words shared. But Gansey was fine with that. He felt like that was how it had to be after everything else. Silent. The others stayed upstairs in Ronan’s room through the whole procession. Gansey hoped they were sleeping after all these events. Someone had to get some rest and from the looks of it, it wouldn’t be either of the boys roaming downstairs.

Moving things out took most of an hour as Gansey silently debated with himself which pieces of equipment he could keep and possibly divert to a different quest (the EMP readers, the recorders) and which he should toss into the heap. Any concerns about whether or not this would be environmentally friendly was met with harsh snort from Ronan and a teasing “Don’t worry, Manic Pixie Dream Dryad won’t find out.” Eventually everything was carted out and the only thing left was a journal. _The_ journal. He sat down on the couch with it, staring. It held so much of himself. His hard work, his dream, the last six years of his life. It had brought Blue into his life- their lives. He couldn’t just toss it onto that pyre could he? Deep in thought, he rubbed the broken spine. He didn’t notice Ronan’s hesitant approach once he finally found where he had wandered off to. Laying a hand on Gansey’s shoulder, Ronan said, “You don’t have to get rid of _all_ of it y’know?” 

With a firm nod of his head, Gansey placed the journal next to himself and stood. Despite _everything_ that their small family had endured at the hands of this false quest, he needed to keep that journal, to keep that small chunk of memories: proof that he was here and that what he had done was real. He was more than just Richard Gansey III the politicians’ son, the model child who waved and smiled and charmed the right people.

 _I want to be remembered_.

It would stay tucked away somewhere until he was ready to look at it again. One day, he hoped, the memories and associations wouldn’t be quite so painful. 

“You get everything?” Ronan grumbled, seemingly amused at how long Gansey was taking. Or maybe he was concerned. He definitely seemed… flighty. Looked about as put-together as Gansey felt. Henry had pulled him aside when they got back to Monmouth. Filled him in on some of the gaps he had from Right Before and During. Ronan hadn’t known. Ronan didn’t know what was going to happen. Gansey didn’t know if he would ever stop feeling guilty for keeping Ronan in the dark. At the end of the day it had gone down to _him_ , not Jane or Adam or even Noah to tell Ronan that Gansey was fated to die. And maybe that made everything just that much worse. That gnawing guilt that that rawness of Ronan’s voice was from the screaming grief and surprise as much as from the Unmaking and the demon trying to choke the life out of him.

“Gansey? Where’d you go in?”

But those were thoughts to turn over later. 

“I’m here. I think? Yes.”

“Come on man.” Ronan helped him up and, after a moment’s hesitation, pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “Let’s go put Humpty back together again.”

The amassed pile in their parking lot reminded Gansey of another time. Burning Monmouth’s skeletons in the light of day had been an entirely different experience to the one right now. Two wild boys making a new start for themselves. Setting off on an adventure that they had not quite yet discovered. That was a far contrast to the two patchwork boys huddled together in front of the pyre of their years together. _This isn’t the end of_ us , Gansey’s mind whispered to himself fiercely.

Wordlessly, Gansey took matches from Ronan’s outstretched hand. Steeling himself, he tried to strike the match, but it seemed hesitant, like it knew what it would be complicit in destroying. An un-Ganseylike growl was emitted as he tossed the match onto the pile and drew another, but the same thing happened. After the third time, annoyance began to pierce through the fog clouding his mind. But Ronan took the last one and lit it for him and handed it back. In a choppy marionette-like movement, Gansey lit his purpose aflame for the last time.

As he watched the smoke slowly rise, Gansey felt his eyes sting. Tears fell as the paper curled. He let them. Ronan held him upright as he sagged, all his strings cut. It was _over_ ; they had _survived_. Who would have thought that a dream so beautiful would be one that necessitated survival?

So Ronan held Gansey as he cried and the past was finally put to rest. Who he would be after this, Gansey didn’t know. In the morning he would wake trapped in the limbs of his little family and there would be time for talk and gentle kisses and healing. But for now, it was enough to be two boys finding comfort in the dark holding each other up in the light of a dying era.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second fic for this series, and I gotta say if my friend Zzy keeps enabling me, I just might write more after this. 
> 
> This isn't perfect by any means, but I liked the concept a lot and wanted to write Gansey not being okay after everything, because he's allowed to not be okay. 
> 
> As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome and I can be found at theunacceptablepylades.tumblr.com


End file.
